No Getting Beyond Good and Evil
by noenigma
Summary: Alternate ending to Beyond Good and Evil.
1. The Wind Up

No Getting Beyond Good and Evil

 _There were so many Morse parallels that Beyond Good and Evil didn't develop for one reason or another that I could hardly resist having a go at it. Having not written for ages now I'm missing a good deal of parallels myself, and I can't promise that I won't turn right around and rectify that, but as it is, I figure it's better to get something written then getting tangled up in a project that may never come to completion. This story's background is pulled mainly from Inspector Morse_ Masonic Mysteries _(an episode with some amazing Lewis bits and that wonderful, plaintive, "Where's Lewis? I want Lewis?" line that sums up Morse's dependence on Lewis like no other. Well worth the rewatch) and, like the proverbial bad penny,_ Service of All the Dead. _Though I usually prefer to stay with canon if at all possible this one tends to jump in and out of actual scenes from the show right to and from my revisions and at some point leaves the episode entirely to become a quite different story._

The Wind Up

 _Be seeing you, Lawrie_

Four simple words. Enough to strike fear in Lewis' heart for all they sounded innocent enough.

"When he sent that text, I thought of you!" he told Laura, but she wasn't hearing what he was saying. Not that he could blame her. The one didn't seem to follow the other. But for Lewis who'd been forced to watch a not-unsimilar situation unfold when Hugo DeVries had set his sights on destroying Morse for daring to put him away, the one led to the other easily enough. DeVries had come close to destroying Morse's life, professionally and privately, and he hadn't targeted Morse only. The chief inspector's lady friend had been the first to go…so yeah, seeing those few words from a psychopath Lewis himself had put away had been enough to bring him round to Laura double quick.

She couldn't know that; DeVries had been dead a good long while before she'd arrived in Oxford. She was touched Lewis had thought of her, but she didn't understand his agitation. Didn't understand it and didn't appreciate it pacing and prowling about the mortuary making it difficult if not impossible to do her job. But, he'd opened that airing cupboard and Morse's old mentor, former Chief Inspector McNutt, had stared back at him with lifeless eyes. A man Morse hadn't seen in years—presumably at any rate—dead because when madmen became fixated with a specific police officer no one around that officer was safe. Even those not particularly close.

Lewis' kids were far afield. He could hope at least that would keep them safe, but Laura. Not just a lady friend like Morse's opera-singing girlfriend, Beryl Newsome; much, much closer than that. Much, much more a likely target if his madman struck…but for all his trying he couldn't convey his rising alarm to her.

She was touched he was concerned about her…touched! She could be touched when he brought her flowers or picked her up some rare and obscure pathology treatise he'd happened upon scrounging in the book stalls—not when he was terrified half out of his mind on her behalf!

But, no. She was touched. She wouldn't be getting out of harm's way…not Laura. Why couldn't she be like Va—like Val. Was he really thinking that? Did he really want her to be? Val might have tried to reason with him, calm him down and make sure he was really thinking clearly, but then she'd have been on her way. There would have been no question she'd do what he thought best in the end. But Laura…quite the opposite, before he'd even gotten the idea out that she needed to be careful, needed perhaps to leave town, she'd adamantly refused and there was no question she'd change her mind. The more he begged, pleaded, or demanded the harder she'd dig in her heels and there was nothing he could do about it.

Maybe if they'd been together for years instead of months, if he'd convinced her to marry him, if…well, it didn't matter. What mattered was keeping her safe and out of a psychopath's sights. And he wasn't making a good job of it. Not at all.

Nor was he thinking straight for she was the one who finally pointed out the obvious. She wasn't the one his madman was fixated on and very unlikely to be for as far as was known Lawrie had never targeted anyone besides policemen.

"It's you who needs to be careful, Robbie…you're the one he'll come after—if he comes after anyone. Which would be extraordinarily foolish, and Lawrie doesn't seem like a fool. Should he get out and come after you, he'll be back in before he can turn around. No, Robbie, he's just winding you up and you're letting him!"

He frowned after her as she stormed once more back to work. He had a burning need to do something. To be an active and important part of the investigation and to get her out of danger. But Innocent—and Hathaway setting his sergeant on the old case files like a hound to sniff out discrepancies and past mistakes as well—had nixed him being anything more than an armchair consultant on the investigation. Not that he could fault either of them—needed doing no doubt but…that didn't make it set any easier. And Laura was having none of it.

But, for all the soundness of her argument, it hadn't quieted the alarm bells reverberating through his soul. He couldn't chance her, couldn't lose her, and it seemed there was nothing he could do about it.

So, nothing for it but to take a close look at the concerns Laura had raised, evaluate the dangers, and see if any of it could be twisted to use against Lawrie. (Or maybe, help him get Laura away…maybe if he convinced her to go with him. Even in his agitation, he snorted at that thought. He'd have no better luck with that than the other.)

So, Lawrie… Hathaway was out getting his hands dirty as Lewis wished he was. Which left Innocent.

"I don't know, Robbie," she said. "Laura's right. We probably should be viewing that text as a threat. One directed at you…perhaps, if it comes to it, you should leave town, consult over the phone—"

"I'd hate to be seen as running," he said, shaking his head not in a firm refusal but in dismay at the thought.

"More than you'd hate to be seen dead? With a hammer through the back of your skull?" she asked.

He gave her a small grimace of a grin. "Well, there's that…but, I'm a Brit. We don't run; we withstand. Just ask Hitler."

"Yes, well, it's not Hitler I'm worried about. This new murder…"

"I can't argue it's the same weapon so not just a copycat, but I'll argue till I'm blue in me face that it's not the same man…the original Hammer Killer is locked up at the moment. This new one—" he sighed, "an accomplice…someone we—I failed—to suss out?"

"Not someone likely to come after you then; you're Lawrie's obsession. But still, this is all moot surely. Lawrie isn't that likely to win this appeal…well, not by you at any rate. Your work was sound; that lab though…" she shook her head and frowned his way. "Robbie, if he is released—"

"I won't be answering any 999 calls, that's for certain," he agreed without saying he'd beat a hasty retreat out of harm's way. And he left without saying where he was going, for he knew quite well that she'd not have allowed his visit to Lawrie. And maybe he should have let her stop him, saved himself from Hathaway's ire, and avoided quite possibly messing up the appeal hearing coming up as well as the present investigation. Letting Lawrie play him for a fool and get under his skin like that. And for what? What had he expected to gain by that visit? He could hardly say. Whatever it was, he certainly hadn't gotten it. What he did get…

"How's Laura, by the way? I'm really looking forward to meeting her." No, no, no. Lewis hadn't needed that. Not one bit. Hathaway was right, he so shouldn't have come. And he couldn't even use that to help him convince Laura the danger was real…if he told her he'd visited the prison—well, he couldn't even put a word to how irate she'd be at that. Dinner in the canoe would be a walk in the park in comparison.

As difficult as it was to believe, Lawrie did win his appeal. His gloating face was all over the telly and he was doubtlessly drinking the bubbly in celebration before the sad group at the pub broke up after paying their last respects to Constable Mark Travis.

So, whoever struck that inexpert blow to Maddox's head, it hadn't been Lawrie as he'd been triumphantly standing before the appeals court at the time. No way had he made the call that sent Maddox running off to danger.

Treat everything as suspicious they'd all been told but Maddox had went off with no thought but to the well-being of her husband, and Innocent and Lewis had let her go with no more thought than wishing they could escape their sad duties there at the pub as easily.

Lewis was left with the sickening reminder that it hadn't only been Laura he should have been worried about. Thank God his children were safely far out of reach. And now, Maddox…barely, and hardly by the skin of her teeth on this side of the living, but at least out of harm's way deep in the bowels of the hospital.

But Hathaway… _ah, Hathaway, man. No stopping you, is there? You wouldn't run if you saw it coming…and I wouldn't ask you to, canny lad. But…watch your back, Hathaway, watch your back._

Laura turned from the window where they'd both been staring pensively in at Maddox lying there under the sedatives and machines with that poor husband of hers sitting beside her.

Looking up at him, she said, "Maybe you should go, Robbie." Back to that then. There was a case on, Hathaway a man short, and Lewis wanted to think he might be of some use putting this new madman out of action, but…

"Is that what you want? Do really want me to, because…" well, more now with Lawrie out than ever, Lewis still wished she would listen to him and leave; it wouldn't be right to ask of her what he wasn't willing to give in return.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "I don't know…I don't want—" she looked at him then, the fear and indecision so clear in her face that he felt like he could reach out and touch it. He remembered the angry brittleness in her voice when she'd thrown that 'wanting to run around in a bulletproof vest' comment at him, and he remembered Val's nightmares down through the years…it wasn't easy, loving a copper. Not even for his indomitable Laura Hobson. She went on, "What are the odds? This wasn't Lawrie. She's a cop. A target. Doesn't follow, does it, that the killer went after her to get after you? No. Of course not. Lawrie may be out, but he's as good as locked up again with the press camped out at his door. This killer…you'll all be that much more vigilant now at any rate. None of you will prove to be an easy target. But…just do me a favour, all right? Talk to Dr. Rook. If she thinks Lawrie would throw away his freedom to come after you, if she thinks all his posturing is more than just that, then you go, yeah? Don't wait to talk it over with me or Innocent, just go. Call us when you're out of town. But if she thinks it's all just bluster, then, ignore me, ok?" She smiled at him weakly, but he solemnly nodded his head and kissed her forehead before he returned her smile.

"Sounds fair enough," he said. "I'll see if I can catch her then, shall I?" After one last look through that window at Maddox, he walked off already pulling out his phone to call the psychiatrist.

"Totally, against his MO," the doctor said after hearing Lewis out and giving it a think. "He certainly enjoys toying with people—and I imagine, you—the man who put him away—in particular. But, killing those trying to help others, that's the perfect murder for him. The thing that gives him release and satisfaction…targeting you as an actual victim wouldn't do. You're the bad guy to Lawrie, he only kills good guys. To change that…he'd have to be deteriorating badly and right now he's far from that. Reveling in his triumph I'm sure. And as to your accomplice…if Lawrie's pulling the strings there, he'll put a quick and decisive stop to any further deviation from his plans. An accomplice would definitely be beta…Lawrie will call the shots."

Lewis nodded his appreciation for the doctor's help and left only somewhat relieved. He'd been toyed with before; nothing he couldn't withstand assuming the doctor was right…so that should quiet Laura's fears about him—keep him from having to pack his bag, turn tail, and run. But. Well, Morse's madman hadn't stuck to his MO, had he? Went from a very successful con man to murder easily enough, DeVries had. No, it could be hoped the doctor was right, but Lewis wasn't banking on it.

And he was smart to not, for in the end the doctor was as wrong as everybody else.


	2. The Real Thing

The Real Thing

He received the first call early the next afternoon.

"Hello, Inspector Lewis. Beautiful day to be out and about, isn't it?" the Scottish accent was as unmistakable as the mocking tone. "I'm sure you'll be happy to know that I've met your lovely Laura, and I can't agree more, lovely woman…what such an intelligent woman sees in you I can hardly imagine. Perhaps I should ask her." With an outraged bellow he couldn't quite stifle, Lewis disconnected the call.

"What?" Hathaway asked with a frown. A 'what?' the chief super echoed with a scowl of her own. She may have understood why her officers couldn't always turn off their phones before entering her office, but she did not appreciate when calls rang through to interrupt her meetings.

Lewis' first instinct was to run out of the building and straight to the mortuary, but he'd let Lawrie wind him far enough. He gave a very abbreviated recap to Hathaway and Innocent as he began to call instead. An incoming call stopped him.

"Laura!" he answered immediately, and if he'd tried to swallow down his worry he hadn't succeeded. It surely would have choked him if he had when it was Lawrie's derisive voice that answered him.

"A bit tied up, I'm afraid, Robbie. You'll have to make do with me for the moment."

"Lawrie! What have you done?" Lewis shouted into the phone. At his words, both Innocent and Hathaway were on their feet…Innocent jumping to get tech support working on the call and Hathaway crowding Lewis to hear what was being said from the other end.

"Not the right question, Inspector. But…as you might guess I've simply baited the trap. Listen closely now…the roof of St. Oswald's—you know the place?"

Lewis swallowed painfully and shook his head. Everything he'd feared was happening that quickly he couldn't think, to throw in St. Oswald's…how could Lawrie have known that that place held any special significance to him? Lewis couldn't begin to fathom though later he'd reckon Lawrie hadn't known Morse had almost been done for there on that very tower by yet another psychopath. To Lawrie, it was just another church tower—one of his favorite locations for a murder. That Lewis might have already rushed up those dusty, narrow tower stairs with his heart pounding loud enough to bring the old church down and fear for someone he loved spurring him on to face a killer with nothing more than a candlestick in his hand and no time whatsoever to form a plan of attack never occurred to Lawrie. Just as well; he would have enjoyed the symmetry.

"Lewis? Don't play games with me," Lawrie warned when Lewis didn't answer right away. Lewis shook himself yet again and forced out an answer.

"Aye. I know the place."

"Good then…no helis, no sirens and the like. Just you…you and me. On the rooftop. Or the good doctor takes up flying." And then there was only dead air in Lewis' ear and Hathaway's hand tight on his shoulder keeping him upright and cold, gripping terror eating through his insides.

A video message came through before he'd managed to somehow force air back into his lungs. Laura. Wide-eyed and disheveled staring at him from the screen. He couldn't see any blood and she didn't look particularly battered but he recognized the parapet of the roof at St. Oswald's there behind her back and the fear in her face. A despairing cry tore itself out of him and he dropped the phone as though it were red-hot. No game, this. No wind up.

From where the phone had landed, Lawrie's taunting voice came out tinny and distant but still all too clear, "This is your 999 call, Inspector. Lewis to the rescue. Perfectly delightful. Chop, chop. Don't take your time." The recording ended there, and Lewis felt his life had as well. Laura.

It was Hathaway who turned to Innocent and made his entreaty with just the one word, "Ma'am?"

She'd not been idly standing by while the world was falling apart at Lewis' feet. "Go. Armed Response will take you as far as the street. They'll brief you on whatever plan they manage to throw together between now and then…and equip you both as best as possible. You'll go on then, Hathaway, take him to the main gate—and from there…"

"Ma'am," Hathaway acknowledged, but that was all he managed as Lewis had somehow pulled himself together to be off with or without Hathaway.

There was little Armed Response could offer them on the ride to St. Oswald's…body armor was useless against Lawrie's hammer. If the place had been a good distance from the station, perhaps a workable plan could have been arrived at, but in the time they had—they were all flying by the seat of their pants. With no parachute to hand.

And, once it was just the two of them, tearing along the street, racing towards the entrance to the old church, there was no time for any of that at all.

"Sir," Hathaway said as he pulled to a stop before the main gates entering the property. Gone were the 'Robbie's' that he'd begun to almost pull off as coming naturally, back the 'Sir' with all the respect and years between them ripe in it.

And there in the new inspector's face was regret and an apology Lewis didn't have time for. No time at all, but…well, he'd gotten Morse wrong a time or two himself and he'd not liked to have it rubbed in his face or left there between them. He was about to enter the killing ground as Morse had so aptly put it all those years ago, and he'd very little hope of coming back alive. It wouldn't do to leave his once-upon-a-time sergeant with all that weighing on him. Not Hathaway, already weighed down as he were with whatever it was that pressed him so…

"There'll be time enough for that another day, Hathaway," he said absolving the younger man for his distrust of Lewis' instincts in regards to Lawrie and the all but forgotten present killer. "Today…there's no one I'd rather have at my back, yeah?" He took a second to lock eyes with his old sergeant and let him read his sincerity there. And then he was out, running along the path Ruth Rawlinson had ridden her bike over coming to clean the church week after week, past the point where the Reverend Pawlen had come plummeting down to his death, not sparing a glance where Harry Josephs had joined the Reverend, up the stairs as though the years had fallen away and he was still a young man like he'd been that far off day when it had been Morse struggling for his life up on that rooftop.

Somewhere along the way that long off day, Lewis had picked up a candlestick though he couldn't recall doing it or what he'd been thinking as he did. Today, there was none of that. He'd slowed down at the door that day, crept out onto that roof, not sure at all what he'd see. Today, too, there was also none of that. He knew what he'd be facing when he crouched under that low doorway and stepped out onto the sloped roof, and that hardly mattered.

Laura. She was all that mattered. Keep Lawrie well away from her, keep her alive until Armed Response and Hathaway came up with a plan and put an end to all of this. And the only way he knew to do that was to offer up himself, give Lawrie what he wanted, but Lewis had no intention of making that easy on the man. Lawrie's murders had always been quick and over, and if he dispatched Lewis just as quickly, Laura would be gone before help arrived. Somehow Lewis had to make Lawrie fight for every last drop of his lifeblood.

So up to the roof without even slowing down, stumbling to a stop there at the open doorway, gasping for air, gasping for a sight of Laura because…well, between the time Lawrie had taken that film and the time Lewis had burst through that door, Lawrie could well have already dispatched her.

But…there she was. A small, crumpled, and motionless heap beside the far parapet. No blood he could see—not like finding Maddox then, the smell of blood permeating the air, the sight of it making his vision swim.

"Laura!" he called, but she lay unresponsive, her hands bound together in front of her, her head curled to her chest so he couldn't see her face. "Laura!" he cried again, louder and even more desperate. As he'd cried, running through her house, hoping she was there somewhere and not in the hands of two insane children years before. He couldn't take this, not again. She was the perfect bait to entice him away from the protection of the wall behind his back. It took everything he had not to run to her, not to be able to look into her face and see a spark of life, not to feel her ashen skin for even a hint of warm blood still flowing through her veins. Just to stand there with his body blocking the doorway and giving no room to Lawrie and his hammer.

And suddenly, there was Lawrie, showing himself from where he'd waited for Lewis to step away from the safety of the stairwell. Mocking, laughing.

"So touching. I'm moved. She's quite gone though I'm afraid. Quite. You're too late. I told you not to take your time." Lewis refused to give into the despair Lawrie's words carried with them, refused to take those horrifyingly bleak words as truth. Lawrie was a liar who enjoyed lying. He also was a psychopath with a known MO. He exalted in killing the rescuer, not the victim…hold on to that, Lewis. That's a truth you can trust…

And then Lawrie was on him, pulling, tearing at him…trying to force Lewis out into the open. He was still going for that perfect moment, with one swift blow felling the one who came to aid another…he was that mad. He could have left the pulling and given one good, unexpected push to send Lewis tumbling back hard against the stone stairwell but that wouldn't do for Lawrie.

All the better for Lewis. He fought to keep his footing on the sloped roof and refused to give way to Lawrie's frenzied attempts to make him stumble forward. He grunted as he managed to shove Lawrie away for a brief instant but the madman was back on him that fast.

He wasn't a young man and he couldn't keep up his defense for ever…where was that bloody hammer? Could he throw it, kick it, somehow get if off that rooftop? Not likely and certainly not if he couldn't even see the obscene thing. All the same, he knew it was there. Waiting for its chance to strike. So…not in Lawrie's hand. Somewhere close though, somewhere the madman thought he could grab it from quickly…but, no. Lewis would be a fool to try to use it himself. End up getting himself killed, he would…well, he was well on the way to that all ready. Perhaps he was, in his own way, as mad as Lawrie, racing up on that rooftop to meet a man bent on killing him…

And where was his backup? He had all of Lawrie's attention; they could move an entire army onto the rooftop at this point and Lawrie would be none the wiser. Weren't they supposed to be coming to the rescue? How long did they plan on giving Lawrie to finish him off before they arrived? And all the time, Laura lying as still as death, and if Lawrie had been telling the truth for a change, if she was already gone…well, he wasn't going there. Give into that despair and welcome his own death and where would he be when it turned out she wasn't already dead and he'd left her for Lawrie to finish off afterall? That wasn't happening.

He was running out of steam, barely able to stay on his feet, gasping for air he couldn't pull in fast enough. He was almost done for. And then Lawrie gave one more violent pull at Lewis' arms and he was going down. He hit hard enough to see stars, but he'd known it was inevitably coming and had been prepared for it and so managed to use the slope to turn over just that quick. He wouldn't have his back to the Hammer Murderer.

If help didn't arrive soon, and Lawrie tired of the game and went for the kill, he'd have to face his victim this time. And it was just as well Lewis had made that determination because there was Lawrie standing over him with his hammer raised for the strike. And seeing Lewis' face, he did falter…just for an instant, but an instant was all Lewis needed. Lewis brought up both his feet and kicked out at Lawrie with all his desperate need to done with this and all of the strength he'd thought he'd already spent and then some.

Lawrie gave an involuntary garbled grunt as the air was knocked out of him, his hammer clanged harmlessly to the rooftop, and he flew backwards…not over the parapet and down to the pavement below as Harry Josephs had done all those years before. He smashed back hard against the stairwall which seconds before had defended Lewis' back and ages before had kept Morse upright as he fought to bring his fear of heights under control. That bolstering wall proved to be less obliging to Lawrie; his head banged soundly against it, and he bounced off of it and landed with a thud on the roof.

Lewis struggled to his knees trying to prepare for a charge from the madman, but Lawrie wouldn't be coming after Lewis again—there'd be no court of appeals or review of sentence this time; justice had come for the Hammer Murderer and it had been swift and final.

With a cry, Lewis turned and scrambled over to Laura. She was pale and cool to his touch, but. Alive. She was alive. He'd barely been on his feet before that oh so welcome knowledge and he found himself down on the roof beside her when his legs gave out from under him. But that was ok.

"Laura!" he cried leaning over her, pulling her to him, and this time his cry reached her.

She slowly blinked up at him and fought to keep her rolling eyes from closing right back up. Drugged she was he thought. The helpful little, drug-passing, book binder must have been able to get hold of sedatives along with steroids when the need arose…and the need had arisen because Laura had only been the bait, not the target—she hadn't been worthy of Lawrie's hammer.

"It's ok, pet," he fought to say because he was still gasping from the struggle and the horror and the relief. "You're all right…everything's ok now."

Her rather unfocused gaze sharpened on him and she shook her head. Fear caught in his chest…what made him think she was only sedated? She might have been given a lethal dose or poisoned or there might be a wound he hadn't taken in…but she gave him a weak, lop-sided grin and shook her head again.

"Wasn't me I was ever worried about," she said—or at least attempted to say. It came out mangled and slurred, but he managed to catch it all the same.

He grinned back at her. "Well, then, it's ok all the same for I'm right as rain." And how could he be anything less than that with her there alive in his arms?

About then, finally, help arrived, led by Hathaway bounding up the narrow steps and bursting out onto the roof and stumbling to a stop as he took in the two of them and the body. Lewis gave him a weak wave to let him know they were both still there. Hathaway nodded in acknowledgment. Then he turned to the body Lewis had left him; there'd be hours yet of processing this scene and the paperwork to follow. (It would be late in the night before Hathaway's work would be done and he could let himself think about what had almost happened, what he'd almost lost up on that rooftop. He'd taken them both for granted; their casual, undemanding friendship as something he'd always have to buoy him up whenever he needed it. He'd known better, but…it was a mistake he wouldn't make again.)

She was fading, but that too was ok. Just whatever she'd been given pulling her down, the rescue workers would be there to make sure that's all it was soon enough. He shifted carefully to give her a bit more support as he felt her going. And that brought her to wide-eyed alertness in an instant. She clutched at his arm and fought to focus on his face.

"Don't…don't leave me," she begged, and the desperation, vulnerability, and fragility Lewis heard in her trembling voice and read in her face made him hate Lawrie at that moment more than perhaps he'd ever hated anyone before. The breath he drew in to assure her he wasn't going anywhere caught in his throat and he couldn't say a thing. Instead, he clutched her even tighter and pressed a kiss to her damp forehead.

Reading all too well what he could never tell her, she rallied enough to give his arm a weak slap and say, "And if you ever say 'I told you so' over this…"

His stifled tears turned into a small laugh and he assured her, "Never." Then she slipped back under the sedative, and a second later the paramedics were at their sides, and he reluctantly turned her over to their competent care.

He tried to shake them off of him as well, but Hathaway, playing inspector and senior officer at the scene, put a stop to that soon enough.

"Just let them have a look, Sir," he ordered. "You'll want to ride along with Laura anyway; might as well let them have their fun," he added, sounding not that unlike his old boss. After that Lewis, unlike Morse who'd fought the paramedics and refused the ride to hospital after almost perishing in the fire DeVries had started in his living room, did acquiesce to a quick trip to the A&E. Not terribly happily, but without a great deal of fuss. He'd not quite emerged from the afternoon unbattered, but what were a few bruised ribs and the like compared to a hammer through the back of his skull?

Not a thing.


End file.
